Bleeding Out
by kokoda2007
Summary: Following a petty argument between the brothers, Sam ends up alone and hurt. Limp Sam. Dean and John angst.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Supernatural or the characters …

**Author's Note: **I have all these short half started fics on my computer and I think to myself that I'll finish one – it'll only take an hour or two …yeah, right ...a few days later and here I am. Now, fair warning – swear words – I tried to cut most of them out, but a few refused to be banished.

A special note to _pandora jazz,_ one of my most valued reviewers (yes, I appreciate everything you say and I do try …really I do) – I know you're not going to like the interaction between the brothers in this chapter. Fair warning.

**Summary:** The brother's have a petty argument and Sam ends up getting hurt - bleeding out and fearing that Dean hates him. Limp Sam. **Dean aged 18, Sam 14**

**Bleeding Out**

by Kokoda2007

**Chapter 1**

"You've got some nerve Sam."

Sam looked up from the book he was studying. "What?"

"Give it back." Dean held out his hand.

Sam gave his brother an odd look. "Don't know what you're talking about," he shot back before returning his attention to his text.

"Now Sam." Dean made no attempt to hide the seething anger in his voice as he stepped in closer.

Sam raised his eyes as his book was roughly knocked from his lap by his brother's hand.

"What the fuck Dean? I've got to have that finished before school tomorrow." Sam rose and faced his brother.

"Fuck school Sam. Give me back the knife."

"What knife?" Sam asked in puzzlement for the first time taking in just how angry Dean seemed, his brother's body coiled tight with tension.

"What god damn knife do you think Sam? The one Dad gave me."

"Dad's old hunting knife?"

"Don't play stupid with me. Now give it to me before I skin your scrawny ass alive."

"Sorry, don't have it."

"It's just you and me Sam, and I _know_ I didn't hide my own god damn knife, it doesn't take a genius to work out that you're the thief 'round here."

"Well it wasn't me." Sam was starting to feel his own anger rising.

"Just give it to me Sam ...don't make me ask again"

"I said I didn't have it …" Sam stumbled, surprised when his brother gave him a forceful shove backwards.

"I swear to god Sam, if you don't give it back right now…"

"You'll what Dean, punch me?"

Dean clenched his fists, imagining doing just that. "Sam!"

"Yeah, well fuck you Dean." Sam faced his brother, nearly equal now in height if not in bulk. Their Dad was away, he didn't need to take this crap from his brother. Turning away from his brother's angry stance he strode with purpose out of the room. Reaching the front door, he looked back at his brother, who remained rigid and angry, and gave him the finger before yanking open the door and stepping outside. He slammed the front door closed, leaving behind some of his own frustration and rising anger.

The snow hit him as soon as he stepped away from the cover of the porch. He wished he'd though to grab his jacket, but leaving the warmth of the house hadn't really been high on his agenda for the afternoon. He didn't know what his brother's problem was but he wanted no part of it. Shit, Dean had looked ready to hit him and he hadn't driven his brother to that level of violence for a good few years. At least that last time he'd kind of deserved it. Pulling apart Dean's collection of revolvers and using the barrels to make cannons for his plastic army of soldiers hadn't been his brightest idea. Maybe if he hadn't used mud to stick them into the pretend hills of dirt Dean wouldn't have been so mad. But hell, he'd only been six or seven at the time. Surely they'd put that incident behind them.

This time he didn't have a clue what Dean was talking about. Sure, he knew the knife his brother cosseted like it was cast from gold; the knife their father had given to him and that he'd used on his first real hunt. God Dean loved that knife, sleeping with it beside his bed the first week ater he got it, as if afraid to let it out of his sight. But he hadn't taken it. Hadn't even touched the thing. He wasn't a complete idiot.

Tucking his freezing hands under his arms he wondered how long it would take his brother to cool down. He wanted nothing more than to turn around right now and get out of the cold, but facing Dean in his current mood wasn't really an option.

He jumped up and down on the spot for a moment before heading down the street at a brisk pace. He'd walk to the corner and back, and hopefully that'd give Dean enough time to find something else to focus on. He knew his brother well enough to know when to back off and give him a little space.

Dean had been more uptight than usual since their latest move, or at least he was letting the cracks show a little more. Their Dad uprooted them as per usual, right in the middle of school term. Hell, he was the one that should be pissed; Dean didn't even care that much about school.

There was nothing unusual about the small house their dad had found for them, it fit all their standard parameters – cheap and run down. But their dad had really done a run and dump job on them this time. They'd barely had time to bring their bags in from the car and their Dad had already started making plans to leave them – new house, new town, new hunt – nothing new there. Apparently there was a job a few towns over that just couldn't wait. A few garbled instructions accompanied the crumpled bills dropped on the table before their Dad strode out the door, promising to be back within the week. Another broken promise it seemed, as they'd been alone now for ten days.

Money was getting tight. Tighter than usual, but they were used to making a few dollars stretch. Macaroni could go a long way towards filling empty stomachs if you ignored the cravings for variety or vegetables. He judged that on current rations they probably had a couple more days before even the macaroni ran dry, probably longer if Dean kept up with the pool hustling he was doing in the local bar on the side.

Dean always got grumpy when food was in short supply and he supposed he could understand – Dean loved to eat. It seemed to be his greatest passion in life – that along with cars, music and girls – probably in that order.

Deep down, he knew it was their Dad that Dean was really pissed at, and that he was just in the line of fire. Dean had had his heart set on joining the hunt, but had been left behind, again. According to their Dad 'Sam' wasn't responsible enough to be left alone for more than a day or two, so Dean had been shafted into the role of reluctant babysitter, and he was letting Sam know his feelings on the matter with utmost clarity. Yeah, like it was Sam's fault.

Sam stopped and turned as a beat up van pulled to a stop beside him.

"Hey kid."

"Yeah?" He answered tentatively, taking a step back on looking around and seeing he was alone in the street.

"Which way …can ya give me directions to the closest gas station?"

"Just ah follow this road to the end and turn left …then ah go right at the lights …can't miss it."

"I'm not real good with directions; can ya show me on this here map?" The man waved the map out the window, before opening the door and jumping out of the van when Sam didn't show any inclination to move.

Sam took a step back as the man advanced.

"Hey, just help a man out here will ya."

When the man wavered on his feet, Sam took it as his cue to bolt.

He'd under estimated the man's speed and agility. Thick fingers grabbed his arm and he was jolted backwards, barely managing to remain on his feet. The strong stench of sweat and alcohol assaulted his senses as he felt himself being dragged towards the road and waiting van.

"Let me go." Sam struck out with his free arm, connecting his fist with the man's jaw.

He struggled to free his trapped arm, pulling against the restraint, but the man was stronger than he looked and his grip just tightened, another hand wrapping around his neck and pressing a sharp blade against the side of his throat. A small trickle of blood welled from below the blade as the firm pressure was increased, succeeding in bringing his struggles to an end.

Retaliation for striking out was instantaneous. He was swung around and slammed into the side of the van, his arm twisted behind his back. The man pushed up behind him and he felt the fetid breath on his neck as the man leant down to whisper in his ear. "You'll shut the fuck up if you know what's good for ya."

Panic suffused his body as he felt suddenly helpless under the man's restraint.

A sharp jab caught him in the lower back and he gasped out, trying to breathe through the pain. He wanted to cry out but with each small sound he made the knife cut in a little deeper, a steady stream of blood now running down his neck.

"Get in." The knife withdrew as the man reached down to open the van door, pushing Sam towards the opening.

He knew this was it, maybe his last chance to make a run for it. Playing docile just wasn't the Winchester way.

He kicked a leg out backwards, getting a direct hit on the man's groin and felt a measure of satisfaction at the low groan the man emitted as he bent over in pain.

Taking his chance he spun round and kicked out at the man again, only to be caught off balance as the man barrowed into him, again knocking him into the side of the van. He threw up an elbow, connecting with the man's chin, the crunch of bone on bone a satisfying sound. When he pulled away, the sharp slice of the knife across his arm barely registered as he focused on getting free.

"Ya not fucking worth it," he heard the man mutter as he stumbled free, his attacker nursing his chin, a trickle of blood leaking from his nose. "Not fucking worth it…"

He didn't look back, didn't check to see if he was being followed, he just ran like the hell hounds were after him until he reached the safety of the house.

With the blood pumping erratically through his body, he rushed inside, only breathing a little easier when the door shut securely behind him. He reached down and turned the lock, leaned back against the door and took a few measured breaths to try and get his hammering heart to return to normal.

"That you Sam?" Dean called from the kitchen.

"Yeah," he yelled back, still breathless.

"You decided to stop being a little bitch and give me back my knife?"

He felt the liquid warmth on his arm and looked down to see the spreading stain of red through his shirt. _Fuck. _

Pushing up his shirt sleeve he was horrified to see the extent of the injury – a large cut sliced through the skin along his forearm, from elbow to wrist, blood pooling in the open wound. He pushed the shirt back down and gripped his arm firmly, biting his bottom lip to hold in the whimpers of pain. He took a few steadying breaths, trying to get himself under control – Winchester's didn't cry.

"Dean?" He tried not to sound whiney as he called his brother's name.

"Just give me back the knife and we'll call it quits." The resigned voice called from the adjoining room in reply.

As the adrenaline moved through his body he started feeling shaky and a little light headed and he slid his body down the door until he was sitting on the cold floorboards. A slight tremor shook him and he realised he was still cold from his time spent outside, the indoor heating doing little to warm his body.

He rested his arm on his bent knees and turned unfocused eyes on the blood that now seeped between his fingers, his shirt sleeve completely saturated in the dark liquid. He watched mesmerised as the blood flow started to move towards his jeans and a few stray drops splashed on the scuffed timber floor below. He knew he should be doing something, anything, but couldn't seem to find the strength to move.

"Dean? …Dean, I ah …I think …Dean?" Faint mumbled words whispered from his lips.

It had been a mistake to go out without his jacket on, he thought as a shiver racked across his skin. He wondered why the heating wasn't on as the cold took a grip on his body.

He wasn't feeling so good.

His arms fell to his sides and he leant his head forwards towards his knees as the room started swimming before him, the undulating movements making him feel nauseous.

He needed Dean.

Dean would fix things …he always did.

Then the niggling at the back of his mind reminded him that Dean hated him at the moment. That his brother wanted to punch him.

He felt the remaining warmth leach from his body.

_**To be continued…**_

**Author's Note: **I'm happy to say that the draft of Chapter 2 is already complete – just some final tweaking being done.

**Reviews are love.**

**oooOOOooo**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **I've been overwhelmed – so to everyone who reviewed, sent me a message, or put this fic on alert – a massive thank you. I can't express how happy you made me or how inspired to keep up the writing. You all made me sit down for half the day, tweak this fic, write a bit more …hope it meets everyone's expectations. I promise to respond to all the reviews soon! Oh, almost forgot ...angst warning...

**Dean aged 18 and Sam 14.**

**Bleeding Out**

**Chapter 2**

The distinctive rumble of the Impala pulling up outside was enough to pull Dean away from the magazine he was reading. Giving the kitchen a quick glance to make sure everything was reasonably clean and tidy and would pass muster with his Dad, he rose to make a pot of coffee, knowing it would be his father's first request. He was keen to hear all the details of the latest hunt.

John got out of the car, feeling exhaustion in every fibre of his being. He was glad to be home, back to his boys, who he'd been away from for far longer than he intended.

Laden with bags of weapons and dirty laundry he fumbled with his key, trying to unlock the front door. Frustrated when the handle would turn but the door wouldn't budge, he put the weight of his shoulders behind it and gave the door a final decisive shove, pushing it open.

The color drained from his face as he took in the pool of blood under his feet and his eyes quickly sought out the legs of his youngest lying awkwardly behind the half open door.

Loaded bags dropped unheeded by his feet.

Scenarios rushed through his mind, none of them good.

Something had gotten his boys, he thought, devastation hitting him full force.

A low pain filled groan pulled him from his stupor.

"Oh god, Sammy," he muttered, dropping to his knees beside his youngest.

"Dean!" He yelled; panic filled at the fate of his eldest. He knew Dean would do anything to protect Sammy, and if Sammy was down, well then…

Turning Sam onto his back, John quickly assessed the injuries sustained by his youngest son. Years of training in the marines kicked in as he applied pressure to the wound on his arm to stem the freely flowing blood as he checked his son's breathing and heart rate.

"Dad?" Dean skidded to a halt at the sight before him.

"Dean, what the hell happened?"

"I don't…" Dean went pale as he took in the volume of blood covering his brother.

"Dean, what the hell happened to your brother? _**Dean!**_"

"I don't know Dad …I don't know."

"It's your job to know …one thing …I ask you to do one goddamn thing…"

"Is he…"

"Dammit Dean …I can't stop the bleeding …get me a blanket …and towels; I need towels …now Dean!" John barked.

Dean raced to follow the order, returning moments later to see that his father had ripped off Sam's shirt and was holding it over his brother's arm.

Sam still wasn't moving.

"Put the blanket over him …he's going into shock." John issued the curt command, grabbing the towels out of his son's hand and wrapping them around Sam's arm.

"Dad?" Dean whispered.

"Keys are in the door – go start the car." John spoke in hushed urgency.

"Sam, Sammy, can you hear me?" John wasn't surprised when he didn't get a response. "It's gonna be okay son, I'm just gonna pick you up now, get you to the hospital …everything's gonna be okay ...just hold on …you gotta hold on a little longer, can you do that for me?"

**oooOOOooo**

Dried blood covered his hands and stained his jeans and shirt, but he didn't care.

He didn't care about the strange looks he attracted or the way everyone else in the waiting room gave him a wide berth.

All he cared about was his son, and the longer he spent waiting the more his worry increased. 'Goddamn hospitals needed a few less regulations and a little more humanity' he thought as he tried to curb his restlessness.

John looked at his eldest, slumped beside him in a chair, his face pale and drawn. It mightn't be the time, or the place, but he had to know. "What the hell happened Dean?"

Dean raised his eyes to his father. "I don't know …we had an argument …Sam went outside for a bit…"

"Alone?"

"Yeah." Dean swallowed down the lump in his throat. " …he was only gone ten minutes at the most …no more I swear, then I heard him come home …few minutes later you showed up."

John ran his fingers through the three day old stubble on his face before rubbing a hand across his tired eyes.

"What the hell were you thinking Dean …I told you to watch him …to look out for your brother …and you let him go off wandering the streets on his own?"

"I didn't think…"

"That's right, you didn't goddamn think …and now your brother's in the hospital …and God only knows…"

"Mr Winchester?" John looked up at the white coated doctor who called his name from the doorway.

"Wait here." John spat at his eldest before making his way to the doctor.

**oooOOOooo**

John felt the tension coiled tight in his body as he waited for the doctor to speak. The schooled expression gave nothing away …no hint of whether or not Sam was okay.

"Your son's blood loss was severe and I have to be honest, it was touch and go there for a while …but we've managed to control the hemorrhaging and get him stabilised."

John felt a little of his tension fall away and nodded at the doctor to continue.

"The minor surgery to repair the damage to his arm went well and I don't think there will be any long term effects …once it's fully healed, he should regain full use of the limb, but it may take a while for him to regain full strength in that arm. The cut on his neck was superficial; minor in comparison …it only needed a few stitches and barring any complications, it should heal without scarring."

"So, he's gonna be okay?" John needed plain honest clarity and a little more reassurance.

"Our main focus now is on replacing the blood that he lost and getting his blood pressure up to more normal levels. We've inserted an intravenous line to give him fluids and transfuse blood and I hope to see him making steady improvements as we get his fluid levels up. He's a strong young man, a real fighter, and I'm pleased to say that he's breathing on his own again which is a promising sign."

"Thank God."

"Now don't get me wrong, he's not completely out of the woods yet, but his condition is improving and at this stage I'm feeling optimistic."

"Can I see him?"

"He's being settled into a room now; just follow the signs down to the paediatric ward and ask at the nurses' station, they'll be able to give you a bed number."

John nodded his head and gave his thanks.

"Oh, and Mr Winchester." The doctor grabbed his attention again.

"Yeah?"

"I believe there're a couple of police officers on their way over to speak to you and your sons." He felt fair in warning the father on what to expect, picking up on the genuine worry in the man's demeanour.

"Thanks, for everything ...'ppreciate the heads up." As the doctor walked away John looked across the room and locked eyes with his oldest son, feeling remorse at the way he'd lashed out and knowing that worry and stress were no excuse.

"Dean," he called, waiting for his son to reach his side. "Let's go see Sammy." He said, resting a hand on Dean's shoulder and filling him in on every thing the doctor said.

**oooOOOooo**

Sam hadn't moved since they'd been shown into his room a few hours previously and Dean was getting desperate for a sign. He needed something more that the flashing display on the monitors to tell him that Sam was going to be okay.

He watched his father leave the room, his eyes only straying from his brother for a minute. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice. He was surprised that after his Dad's outburst that he trusted him enough to watch over Sam while he returned to the house for a quick shower and change.

He still hadn't given his Dad the full details of what had happened. How he'd let his brother leave without a second glance. How he'd ignored his brother's cry for help. How he hadn't lifted a finger to go to his brother's aid. He knew it was just a matter of time before their Dad demanded answers, answers he wasn't sure he was ready to give.

He wasn't ready yet to face the disappointment he'd see in his father's eyes. The loss of trust. All things which he deserved, twice over and then some.

He couldn't change the fact that it should be him lying there, not Sam.

He realised that now. Sam had been calling for help when he'd come back into the house. Even now he could hear Sam's voice clear in his head as he called his name. He couldn't erase the image of Sam lying on the floor covered in blood that was permanently imprinted in his mind, reminding him of how he'd failed every time he closed his eyes.

He'd failed. In the worse possible way.

"Oh god Sam, I'm sorry," he whispered, taking his brother's pale hand in his own. "I'm so sorry."

He knew now that Sam would never look at him in quite the same way again. How could he? How could his brother ever forgive him?

He couldn't forgive himself.

**oooOOOooo**

Sam drifted in the heavy haze between awake and asleep, trying to keep himself there.

He knew where he was even before he opened his eyes. The familiar tang of hospital antiseptic and the firm rubber covered mattress were all too familiar.

As the memories surfaced as to what had happened to bring him here he let out a low groan.

"Sammy? Hey come on, time to wake up now." Dean whispered.

"Son, can you hear me?" John asked.

Sam pushed his eyelids slowly open and looked into the tired eyes of his family leaning over him, inches away from his own face. He felt a little more relaxed knowing they were here with him, making sure nothing bad happened. He let his eyes slip closed again.

"Hey, no come on…" Dean ran a hand through his brother's hair, pushing it off his face, hoping he'd open his eyes again.

"Dean, let him be, he needs to rest."

**oooOOOooo**

The next time Sam woke up he felt a little clearer. His eyes fell on his father slumped in the chair beside his bed, neck resting at an awkward angle as he slept.

"Sam?"

Sam turned his head to the other side and looked at his brother who was staring at him through bleary blood shot eyes.

"Dean …what…" he whispered; coarse voice barely audible.

"Hey, take it easy."

Dean held out a glass of water to Sam, angling the straw into his mouth and waiting until he'd taken a few small sips.

"How you feeling kiddo?"

"…'m okay."

"Yeah right …don't think you'll be winning any beauty contests this year."

"Dads back."

"Yeah, and not a second too soon." Dean muttered.

"Huh?"

"Uh never mind …you need anything?"

Sam gave a small shake of his head and let his eyes slip closed again.

**oooOOOooo**

When he was finally able to stay awake longer than a few minutes, Sam gave details of his attacker to the local police, not surprised that his Dad and Dean had been unable to give them any information about what had happened. He was grateful to put that part of the ordeal behind him. He just hoped the police found the man before his Dad or Dean did, because he didn't want his own stupidity to get his family into any trouble further down the line.

Now he just wanted to go home and put the whole incident behind him. He was tired of the constant monitoring and hovering, the crappy TV and the even worse food. He loved his Dad and brother, but he wanted some privacy - he needed a little bit of space.

He needed his Dad to stop giving him furtive glances every time he didn't think he was looking.

He needed his brother to stop turning away every time he tried to broach a conversation.

He needed things back the way they were.

It didn't come as a great surprise when his Dad managed to convince the doctor that he could be discharged, even though his scheduled discharge date was still a few days away. The doctor didn't look overly happy about it, but Sam didn't care. Resting up in his own bed would be heaven in comparison to the hospital. At least he'd have his own books, and could maybe get his school work sent home so that he could keep up until he returned to classes.

He never thought he'd be so eager to get back into the Winchester routine.

"You ready?" Sam looked from his Dad to the wheelchair he pushed in front of him.

"Yeah, but I can walk." Sam stated emphatically.

"Sam…"

"But Dad, I…"

"Just humor your old man and use the chair."

Sam gave his Dad a look of displeasure as he lowered himself into the wheelchair. "I feel like a geriatric," he muttered, gaining a chortled "join the club" from his father.

He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he was glad he didn't have to walk all the way through the hospital and to the car. He still felt light headed if he stood up too quickly or moved too fast, and a simple trip to the bathroom pretty much used up all of his energy.

He welcomed the familiar sight of the Impala waiting at the curb, his brother predicably ignoring all parking restrictions. Dean stood tall by the side of the car as he watched their approach, moving to open the back door of the Impala as they neared.

Dean hadn't spoken to him much since he'd woken up in the hospital and he worried that his brother was still angry at him. He'd started to ask Dean a few times if they were okay, but each time he'd stopped, a little afraid of the answer.

Dean remained distant and he didn't like it.

**oooOOOooo**

As frustrating as it was to need help, he leaned into his fathers support as he was helped from the car and in to the house. Although the assistance was given with total willingness, he'd never felt like such a burden.

As his father eased him down onto the couch he breathed a sigh of relief, happy at last to be home. As sparse and dreary as it was, it was a vast improvement over the hospital.

"Thanks."

"Need anything?"

"Nah, I'm right." Sam leaned his head back on the couch and closed his eyes, surprised at how much the short trip had taken out of him. Within minutes he succumbed to sleep.

He wasn't aware of the covert glances that his dad and brother kept sending his way, constantly checking that he was okay. He didn't twitch when and old rug was procured and draped over him or a pillow slipped behind his head.

"You sure he should be out of the hospital?" Dean asked his father, his voice dripping with concern as he kept his eyes trained on his sleeping brother.

"He's okay son, just gonna take a little time for him to recover …you wait and see, he'll be up and about annoying the crap out of you before you know it."

"Doesn't need to be up and about to do that." Dean threw back, immediately feeling a twinge of remorse at the throw away remark.

He was a crappy big brother and Sam deserved so much more.

**oooOOOooo**

Dean sat down on the chair opposite his brother, watching the even rise and fall of his chest. He hadn't been able to shed the guilt he felt every time he thought of his brother bleeding out, so close to death and him just sitting in the next room - doing nothing to prevent it.

Completely oblivious.

Yet totally to blame.

They'd been lucky this time, but he knew from experience that 'luck' couldn't be counted on. Not good luck anyway.

He propped his feet on the edge of the couch and just watched. Watched Sam sleep.

He sensed Sam waking up before he opened his eyes. He knew the subtle movements his brother made as he surfaced from a deep sleep.

Sam opened his eyes and stared at his brother.

Dean didn't make any effort to move away.

Sam felt a ripple of concern. "Dean? ... Everything okay?"

"Sam, I'm sorry." Dean dropped his gaze.

"For what?"

"Letting you go."

"It wasn't your fault ...none of it was."

"If it hadn't been for me, you would've stayed inside …been safe."

"Dean, you couldn't know what was gonna happen …"

"Yeah, but I should've stopped it. Should've stopped you from going out."

"Not your fault Dean." Sam shook his head in denial.

Dean raised his eyes to his brother. "I know now …I know you didn't take the knife."

"How?"

"Dad. …It was in the weapons bag …Dad had it the whole time. Handle broke on his new one so he just borrowed mine ….I didn't know …he didn't tell me …I just thought…"

"Yeah, I know."

"God Sam, I should have…"

"Dean …sometimes, you just gotta let me go."

_-end-_

**Reviews are love.**

**Authors Note: **No John and Dean fallout you yell …I know I'm going to get some grief over this. Yes, seriously, I think I should end it here. Otherwise I'll never get around to all the sequels I owe or the plot bunnies I've adopted.


End file.
